


In Death, Sacrifice

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dreams, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding Cailan's body at the ruins of Ostagar, Alistair struggles to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Death, Sacrifice

“

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.”  
\--Grey Warden motto

The four people gathered around the burning body were still and silent. Not even Zevran, who could always be counted upon to say something entirely disrespectful and inappropriate, managed to keep a leash on his irreverence. The man put to the pyre had been King, after all, and while he had not served for long, he deserved honor. 

The Warden looked to Alistair, watching him for some sign that it was time to move on. After all, Cailan had been more than just Alistair’s king, he had been his brother. While they had not been close, probably had not passed more than three words their entire lives, Alistair bore the brunt of his loss just the same. The Warden thought Alistair bore the brunt of everyone’s passing. He was far more tender than a Grey Warden had a right being. 

It was part of what made him such a powerful ally, though. Alistair was tempered by his tenderness, but he was not blunted by it. He had a righteous kind of anger, when he saw some kind of injustice. When he lashed out then, the Warden could see an animal rattling at its cage, deep inside of Alistair. 

It frightened him, if only a little. He did prefer Alistair the way he usually was. Sweet, funny, dimwitted Alistair.

“You deserve better,” Alistair murmured, rubbing at his eyes. The Warden wasn't sure if it were smoke or tears that burned his eyes so badly. It was better he not ask, there were some things even Alistair would never tell him. “You deserve to have your people see you off... I promise you, Cailan, we’ll get to the bastard that did this to you. We’ll _kill_ Loghain.”

“Finally, the boy sees reason,” Morrigan said, smiling coquettishly at Alistair. “I believe I said ‘twas the only way. When was that? Ah, at the _beginning_ of our journey.”

“Oh, yes,” Alistair said, tossing up his hands, “Let’s march to Loghain and cut him down right this moment. What I said then is still true, witch, there’s no way to beat Loghain with the forces we have now.” Alistair looked, somewhat desperately, to his fellow Grey Warden. The elf met his eyes and shrugged. 

“Even if we could,” the elf said, “We have more important things to focus on. The darkspawn are our top priority. Let’s say we managed to fell Loghain, and exhausted ourselves and our allies while doing so... The ‘spawn would march on us. Alistair...” He reached out and gripped Alistair’s shoulder, “If we die, Fereldan dies.”

Alistair shrugged out of his friend's touch, and turned from him. Snow and wind blew against his face, and the Warden watched him shiver. Winter had come early to Ostagar. It had come the moment Cailan and Duncan had been betrayed and left as trophies for the ‘spawn. 

“‘Tis late,” Morrigan said, and the Warden was surprised by the gentleness in her voice. “Perhaps we should leave this place.”

“I for one, look forward to a nice hot bath,” Zevran said, “The stink of these creatures is all over me.” The assassin held out his hands to the Warden, “Even my gloves smell, my love. And after you worked so hard to find them for me.”

The Warden smiled, weakly, and took Zevran's hand. “Let's go, then. Alistair?” He looked back at his companion, lagging far behind them. “We need to leave. We’ve done for him what we could.” 

“It’ll never be enough,” Alistair murmured, but he came along obligingly. 

****

“The dreams have been coming more often,” Alistair said, watching the Warden sit up, suddenly, from his bedroll. Sweat sheened on the elf’s naked chest, and rose and fell rapidly with his heavy breathing. He looked at Alistair through the fire, his face distorted by smoke and radiating heat. 

“Duncan always told me that when a Warden dreams, he makes himself vulnerable. We can sense the ‘spawn, and even the Archdemon, but _they_ can sense _us_ , too.” Alistair laughed and scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “It’s been more than a year since he died, and I still... Do you think I’m stupid? And please, lie to me if you must.”

“No,” the Warden said, “You're not stupid, Alistair. Not about _this_ at least. He was important to you. Important to all of us, really. If he were here, this mess would be so much easier to deal with. But it’s just the two of us, Alistair, we're the last hope for Fereldan.”

“Sorry buggers,” Alistair mumbled.

“Why are you torturing yourself?” The Warden asked, “I thought you got enough torture from the rest of us.”

“I just, feel like we should be doing _more_ ,” Alistair said, “Like we... Could do more for Fereldan, or for _ourselves_.” He looked at the Warden seriously, without a trace of humor in his eyes or around his mouth. The Warden had never seen him look so grim before, and he was suddenly aware of how fleeting tenderness and innocence could be. 

That was what Alistair was after all; he was the morality, the conscience, for all of them. Not one of them could say that they honestly believed in the goodness in the world; not even Leliana, though she would struggle so hard to make them believe it. Alistair, though, _did_ believe. He believed the world was more than worth saving, it was worth _loving_. The Warden envied him his innocence, and yes, he hated him for it. 

“We wander about, helping so many people, but it’s never enough. At the end of the day, we come back here, and we are no closer to ending this Blight. No closer to ending these nightmares. You lay down with your assassin and make some kind of peace, but _I_ \---” Alistair shook his head. “No, never mind. I’m being stupid.”

“Come here, Alistair.”

Alistair blinked at the Warden. “No, no. I’m fine over here. It’s much, ah, warmer than it is over there. Yes. Nice and warm and toasty right here, thank you very---”

“Do you think I’m going to try and take advantage of you, Alistair?” The Warden asked, smiling, “No offense, but I _do_ have Zev.”

“Ah, good point,” Alistair said, “Compared to him I must seem very plain and boring. Boring old Alistair.”

“Not boring,” the Warden corrected, “ _Timid_. I don’t have much patience, Alistair. Come here.”

Alistair sighed as he scooted over to sit beside his fellow warden. He made sure to keep some distance between them, and kept his face tilted up and his eyes on the stars. 

“In war, victory,” the Warden whispered, wrapping his arm around Alistair's shoulders and pulling him closer. “In peace, vigilance.”

“In death, sacrifice,” Alistair finished, “You know, the entire motto is depressing.”

The Warden laughed and tousled Alistair's short hair. “Yes, but it's _effective_. You're smiling. Honestly, Alistair, never stop smiling. You look constipated and I worry about you. I’ll have to make Morrigan concoct some kind of laxative---”

“Maker, no,” Alistair groaned, “Anything but that.”

“In the Circle, I never knew anything about this,” the Warden said suddenly. 

“About what?”

“ _This_. Sitting here under the sky with a friend. Being at peace, being _happy_. What I have with Zevran... It’s nice. We weren't allowed, in the Circle, to get close. We could be seen as conspirators, plotting escape, practicing blood magic... Whatever the templars could think to accuse us of. I had friends, or people who I thought I could rely on, but it was never like this. I never had someone that I could sit with and be... Happy with. Be at peace with.”

“Are you telling me I’m your first _real_ friend?” Alistair asked.

“Well, yes.”

Alistair smiled, slipping his arm around the Warden's waist. “The bastard and the mage, saving the world.”

“ _Royal_ bastard,” the Warden corrected.

“Right, right. I always forget the royal part.”

“We’ll do this together,” the Warden said, “ _In war, victory_ , right?”

“Right,” Alistair agreed, softly, “I just wish I could believe in fairytales the way you do.”

If his friend heard this, he had nothing to say to it. Perhaps that was best. Perhaps it was best that they left each other to their own doubt and fear. Grey Wardens, after all, were not immune to either. Much as they were not immune to death, when the Calling sounded and drew them to the Deep Roads. 

Or when a knife was planted in their back.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** In Death, Sacrifice  
>  **Word Count:** 1,457  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age: Origins and all related characters (c) Bioware
> 
>  
> 
> My first Warden in Dragon Age Origins was an Amell, I believe. A human mage. Yes, he did romance Zev, and yes, he did have such an epic bromance with Alistair. (Epic enough to make me like the word 'bromance' for once.)
> 
> This wasn't meant to be anything but a way to flex my Alistair writing skills. xD Nevertheless, I hope people enjoy the story. Alistair is adorable... incredibly dense, but adorable.


End file.
